


Hidden Truths (Working Title)

by Ethan_SN



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ADHD Ron, Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Bad Dumbledore, Alternate Universe - Good Voldemort, Alternate Universe - Orphanage, Aro Draco, Autistic Hermione Granger, Bi Daphne, Bi Hermione, Blind Charlie, Cedric Diggory Lives, Disabled Charlie, GNC Harry, GNC Luna, Gay Angelina Johnson, Gay Astoria, Gay Cedric, Gay George, Gay Hannah, Gay Harry, Gay Katie Bell, Gay Lee Jordan, Gay Luna, Gay Marietta, Gay Oliver Wood, Gay Padma, Gay Parvati, Gay Percy, Gay Susan, Gay Theodore Nott, MTF Daphne, MTF Ginny, Mrs Norris Is A Maledictus, Multi, Non-Binary Draco, Poly Daphne, Poly Fred, Poly Hermione, Polyamory, Trans Daphne, Trans Ginny, Viktor Krum Dies, ace draco, dyslexic harry, gay neville, gay seamus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2019-09-30 09:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17221253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethan_SN/pseuds/Ethan_SN
Summary: Ron was lost and put into an orphanage at three years old. After showing magic, Hermione's religious parents put her in an orphanage at five. At six, the Dursleys get sick of Harry and send him away, too. The three of them grow up together in an orphanage, until one summer day an old man comes and brings them to Diagon Alley, where Ron remembers some of his past. On the train, an odd boy named Draco fills them in on a few secrets... Ron is a lost child, Harry is the Chosen One, and they all become fast friends. Molly adopts them all and raises them. Things seem to go on as normal... Until they discover that Dumbledore is hiding so many things from them, and the Dark Lord may not be what Dumbledore wants the world the believe.





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> If I don't update at least once a month, please yell at me in a comment.

Molly was shaking as she sat on the cracked concrete step, leaning on the front door. Arthur was upstairs, putting their remaining six sons to bed. She couldn’t think, other than of sweet little Ronnie, clinging to his brother Bill’s hand and babbling incoherently, of Bill’s drained, pale, terrified face as he called out for Ron, of the absolute horror as they searched, of the complete and total despair she felt quaking through her body. She wept into her hands. She knew the police force was looking, but she had already lost hope and it absolutely shattered her. She couldn’t feel, other than such an intense, throbbing, something that was so horrific it transcended language. How on earth would she manage to go on? To live? To breathe, without her son? She had six more to take care of- six! And a husband, a wonderful man who was feeling every ounce of pain she was.  
She couldn’t process what could be happening to Ron. Her brain was simply incapable of understanding anything but him being gone, and with all of the horrible things that could and did happen to little three year olds, lost, she almost hoped he was dead, only so he didn’t suffer at the hands of evil people. She cried out in anguish. She couldn’t think about that. It wouldn’t help.  
Arthur opened the door and helped her to her feet. Neither of them spoke as they walked to their bedroom and lie down in their clothes, and neither of them slept, just wept into one another.

Sister Stella Marie looked at the little girl sitting upright on the chair in the lobby. She had long, frizzy brown hair shaped like a brown trapezoid with too-short, uneven bangs atop a round, beige face with big, dark brown eyes. She wore a blue t-shirt with a white unicorn and multicolored mane on a white long sleeve shirt atop khaki capris, and light blue ballet flats. She was playing thumb war with herself in an attempt to sit still. The five year old didn’t look very distressed, which was odd, considering her parents were standing at the front desk, filling out the paperwork to put her up for an adoption. Shooting Mary, who stood before them, a horrified glance, the nun walked over to sit next to her.  
“Hi, honey,” Stella Marie said. The girl looked up and smiled, turning and folding her legs.  
“Hi, miss,” she said in a northern accent. “I’m Huminey, nice to meet you.”  
“Hermione,” The mother snapped.  
The nun smiled at the girl. “Hello, Hermione. I am Stella Marie,” She ran a hand over her hair. “Nice to meet you.”  
“Mummy and Daddy say I’m going to stay here now,” The girl said, a bit of sadness coming into her voice.  
Stella Marie smiled tensely and looking up at the parents, lips pursed. The mother had one hand gripping her crucifix necklace. Stella Marie ruffled her hair before standing and walking behind the desk.  
“She’s a bit old to give up,” Stella Marie said tentatively in a low voice. “Aren’t you a bit attached to her?”  
“She’s a witch,” The father said. “I’ll not have a dirty sinner in my home. It’s not christian.” His voice was shaking. The mother looked sad, scared. The father looked… Angry. Hurt. Stella Marie looked at Sister Mary, who was frowning at the parents.  
“And what makes you think she’s a witch?” Mary asked.  
“She- weird things happen around that girl.” He shook his head. “She’s evil.”  
“God is punishing us,” The small woman said, a tear falling. “For breeding between races,”  
Stella Marie breathed in, glancing between the little white woman and tall black man. She was speechless. These people actually thought-  
“Go take her to meet the other girls,” Sister Mary said, tense. “She can meet the boys after supper.”  
Stella Marie nodded, taking Hermione’s hand and walking her towards the office. The girl swayed their clasped hands as they walked, looking back at her parents. “How often will they come see me, ma’am? Like, at least a couple times a day, right?”  
Stella Marie’s eyes stung. She only smiled in return, taking her in and speaking into the p.a. system for the girls to all go to the courtyard to meet a new friend, then walking the little girl towards it. It was inconceivable to her that parents would give up a baby, but a little girl? Absolutely horrific.

Harry lay on the cold, thin cot the orphanage passed off as a bed, staring at the dusty coils of the bunk above him. He felt… Numb. He knew the Dursley's had hated him, but… Really? Dropping him off at an orphanage?  
He’d be relieved if he wasn’t so certain this place would be even worse… But at least he wasn’t stuffed into a cupboard. Still, a bunk bed, surrounded by a sea of other bunk beds… He rolled onto his side, only to snap his eyes shut when another boy was facing him. It was so weird, and unnerving. He pulled the scratchy wool blanket over this head, wrapping it around his face so everything was covered but his nose, so he could breathe.  
He felt like he should miss them, but he didn’t. He felt betrayed, and offended, but… He wasn’t upset that he’d never see them again. It was a weird thought, of course, but he certainly wasn’t going to cry over it. They weren’t exactly lovey-dovey with him.  
He rolled onto his other side and made eye contact with a ginger boy who was looking at him. He had short orange hair, a long face and a long nose, light blue eyes, and pale skin covered in freckles.  
“Hey,” the ginger said in a hushed voice.  
“Hi,” Harry replied.  
“I’m Ron.”  
“Harry.”


	2. The Abandoned Motorbike

Eleven years old. The trio of friends sat in the courtyard between the orphanages; St. Mary’s and St. Peter’s. Ron was to the left of him, a short little thing, his trousers dirty, the patch on his knee falling off, his shirt untucked, several buttons undone. Hermione sat to the right of him, her long hair in two messy knots atop her head, baby hairs framing her tired, caramel face. Her dress was neat and tidy, the bow under the collar of her undershirt precise and perfect. Harry adjusted his own ill-fitting uniform and began to doodle in the dirt a birthday cake for himself.  
If the nuns knew they were out here, they’d be in deep trouble for sure… However, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had never been much for rules. Not other people’s, anyway.  
“Only a few more minutes now,” Ron said, glancing over at the watch on Hermione’s wrist.  
“I can’t believe all us Potters are going to be eleven,”  
Harry, having been the eldest upon arriving at the orphanage, was the only one who remembered his surname. Hermione remembered her birthday, but Ron didn’t (having had arrived here at age three), and they all decided that not only would they have the same surname (legally, of course, their surnames were Smith, as was policy for the orphans here, but that had never suited the trio) and the same birthday; July 31. So, really, it was like they were all twins.  
“We get to go to secondary school,” Hermione said.  
“Wwe can start working, to save up to get out of this damned place,” Ron added.  
Harry wanted to add something they could do, but couldn’t seem to think of anything. He smiled at his friends- his siblings- and careful drew their names out in the dirt.  
“Twenty, nineteen,” Hermione started to count in a hushed whisper.  
“Eighteen,” Ron added, smiling.  
“Seventeen, sixteen… ten, nine, eight… four, three, two, one.” They all counted in unison, then they blew the cake away together, leaving the plain dust below them. They all grinned at one another.  
“Children!” Sister Stella Marie hissed, making them jump. She walked out into the corridor and took Hermione’s hand, gently but sternly pulling her up. “You boys get going, now, and I won’t tell Father Matthew about this.”  
“Sorry, Sister,” Harry said, and Ron nodded. She led Hermione away by the hand, and the boys quickly rushed off, in case Stella Marie decided to check on them.  
“Good thing it was her that caught us,” Ron whispered in his sloppy Southern accent. “Any of the others and we’d probably be getting the cane,”  
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, glancing round the corner for anyone patrolling the halls before opening the bunk room door and slipping in, leading Ron to their beds.  
“Happy Birthday, Ron,” Harry said quietly after a moment.  
“Happy Birthday, Harry. G’night.”  
“Night.”

The next morning in the dining hall, all twenty or so orphans crowded the two long tables, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were bunched up together. Grace had been said and porridge served, and while Ron dug into his food as usual, Harry and Hermione picked at it.  
“I think this gets worse every time we eat it,” Harry said.  
“Oh, c’mon, crybaby,” Ron mumbled through a mouthful of food. “It tastes fine.”  
Harry harrumphed and looked out the window just in time to see a few bushes sway oddly, not enough of them to be the wind, but enough to gleefully motion for his friends to look out the window; “Look! In the bushes, there, they moved. Maybe it’s a stag.”  
The others looked up, but the creature- whatever it was- did not move.  
“We have to go out there and look,”  
“We have to eat first,” Hermione said. Full of dread, Harry looked down and finished his porridge.  
About five minutes later, they were finished, and waved sister Stella Marie over, who checked their bowls and dismissed them, reminding them to be back by lunch. They rushed outside, to the bush, but found nothing.  
“Damnit, we missed it,” Harry sighed defeatedly, kicking fallen foliage.  
“Woah,” Hermione said, walking slightly further into the trees. “Look at this!” Harry and Ron walked over to see a shiny motorbike leaning against a tree.  
Ron instantly went to open up the leather bag strapped to the side of the motorbike.  
“Ron!” Hermione chastised in a hushed voice.  
“What? Finders keepers,”  
“The owner might still be around,” Harry said, nervously looking around.  
Ron didn’t answer though reaching in and pulling out a leather pouch, which he opened to reveal glittering chess pieces. “Cool!” He said gleefully, pocketing them before looking in again. Hermione, sighing, began to look around the bike, while Harry kept glancing around, trying to make sure no one was around. He heard nothing, save the usual sounds of the woods, but still, he was uneasy. It felt like something- someone- was watching them… But surely, if the owner saw them, he or she would stop them from stealing? And certainly, the nuns would… They’d get quite the penance if they were caught stealing.  
He pulled out a shiny bronze compass, intricate patterns decorating the top, strange symbols on the bottom. “Woah,” Hermione said, walking towards Ron. “That’s beautiful,”  
“Take it,” Ron said, but she looked reluctant. “It suits you.”  
Tentatively, she did, and pocketed it. Ron pulled out a folded piece of paper and tossed it on the ground, but Harry grabbed it. “Hey! Finally some paper to draw on without lines,” He tucked it gently into his trousers, careful not to fold it more than it already was.  
Suddenly, Hermione let out a little yelp, followed by a thump. The boys rushed towards her, behind the tree, to see her on her bum, a small peach colored fluff ball skittering around her.  
“What… is this?” Hermione asked, grabbing it and holding it at arm’s length. It was about the size of a football. It had a small, tan head with big, pearlescent eyes, a small nose with thin slits, and a tiny mouth. It hummed- purred?- and she dropped it. It continued to hum as it rolled. Laughing, Ron picked it up and put it on its head, then laughed again, louder, heartier.  
“It’s tickling my head with its toes!” He beamed.  
“What IS it?” Hermione demanded. Harry, smiling, reached up to tentatively pet it.  
“Adorable,” Harry replied.  
“What if it’s dangerous?” Hermione asked.  
“Oh, look at it, Mione.” Ron said dismissively, then dropped it in her lap. She gasped, but it seemed unaffected by the fall.  
Awkwardly, she patted it, and it hummed it response. She gave a small, odd smile, before handing it back to Ron. “What should we do with it?”  
“We keep it,” Ron said matter-of-factly.  
“That’s ridiculous! First of all, there’s no way we’ll be able to hide it. Second of all, what will you feed it? Where will it go to the bathroom? What if it has babies, or-”  
“Stop worrying so much, Mione,” Ron said, tossing it up and catching me. “Me and Gye (Jy, rhymes with why) will find a way.”  
“Rafe will probably help us,” Harry pointed out. Hermione gave a small nod.  
“That’s true,”  
“He’ll give us penance for stealing,” Ron complained.  
“We deserve it,” chided Hermione. Ron returned to rummaging through the pack, pulling out two final things; a medium-sized package, wrapped like a medieval parcel, and an old-looking, ruffled paper.  
“Harry! Ronald! Hermione!” Mother Mary called out. “Pastor Raphael needs a word!” The trio scrambled to hide the parcel; Hermione put it under her dress and took off her pullover, tying it around her waist to keep it in place. Ron shoved the paper in his pocket, stuffing the puffskein into his shirt, hiding it in the small of his back. His loose shirt hid it pretty well.  
They walked back to the door to the orphanage, where Mary stood. She was an ancient woman, 98 years old, and stood no taller than Harry, bent and crooked. She smiled at the children.  
“Ah, there you are. Off to Rafe- he’s in the church, loves.”  
The three of them walked around the orphanage, seeing the church standing tall and proud just past a small, overgrown clearing. It was a grey day, and though it was probably nine thirty in the morning, it looked like nine thirty in the evening. The church looked rather intimidating, tall and grey and dreary.  
“This place is so creepy,” He said. Hermione was making a sour face- she hated the church- and Ron shrugged.  
“Most haunted places are.”  
Hermione rolled her eyes, and they walked on.  
Harry’s leg burned against the crinkling paper in his pants. There was something… Odd, about it. And the package? What the hell was that? Where had Gye come from? What even was it? Who was driving a motorbike in the woods, and why? Were they dangerous? What had been watching him in the forest, if anything?  
Harry led them up the stairs to the entrance of the church, opening the giant door for them and closing it behind them. Rafe was sitting in the pews. The trio walked over and sat in the pew in front of him, facing backwards. He was praying.  
He was a handsome man, with carefully kept, short black hair and a close-shaven face. His eyes were a glimmering silver, his nose hooked, jaw strong. However, his face and neck were covered in scars, like scratches. It didn’t make him ugly, but it was hard to ignore. They constantly ached and caused him a great deal of pain. His face seemed permanently frozen in a grimace.  
After a moment, he opened his eyes and smiled fondly at the children. “Well, hello, there.”  
“Hey, Rafe,” Hermione said happily. She had, once upon a time, had a crush on him. Now, she insisted she didn’t, but often gave him pining glances.  
“We… Have something to tell you.” Ron said as Gye danced on his back. Rafe picked his head up, looking at him patiently, a slightly beguiled smirk on his face. “What impossible mischief have you found yourselves in?”  
“We’ve- done something,” Hermione said, looking uncomfortable. “Sinned,”  
“I’d figured,” Rafe replied.  
“We sort of- stole.” Harry said.  
“Well, more, found things.” Ron defended.  
“That don’t belong to us.” Harry said.  
“And took them.” Hermione finished.  
Gye crawled out of Ron’s shirt and onto the top of his head. Rafe tensed, eyes widening, then narrowing as he peered at it. “What- is that?”  
“We don’t exactly know,” Harry said.  
“He’s nice, though!” Ron said, grinning.  
“So far,” Hermione said, peering up at it.  
Ron took it off his head and handed it over to Rafe, who took it tentatively, petting it.  
“It looks…”  
“Fluffy?” Harry asked.  
“Weird?” Hermione offered.  
“Adorable?” Ron countered.  
“Familiar.” Finished Rafe. He handed it back to Ron, who then handed him the paper in his pocket. Hermione followed suit reluctantly with her goodies- the parcel and watch- and then Harry.  
“Where did you get them?” Rafe asked.  
“An abandoned motorbike in the woods,” Ron said.  
“It didn’t look abandoned,” Hermione corrected.  
“It was alone, Hermione. Who would just leave it there for safekeeping?” Ron countered.  
Rafe opened up the package, finding a wooden box, intricately carved, with strange symbols covering it. His brow furrowed as his large hands gently traced them. He seemed to find them familiar as well. After a moment, he opened it, where a glittering glass bottle lay in soft foam peanuts, a blood red liquid filling it. A tiny paper sat beside it. Rafe picked it up.  
“Something I invented. Turns out it binds people by blood irrevocably… Makes them siblings. Slightly alters the appearances of the drinkers. Not sure what to name it yet, I figured you’d like it for your collection. - Tonks”  
Rafe picked it up, turning it in his hands. It was about as large as a drinking glass, and shaped like an egg, with a short, round base to stand on. The sides of the glass were decorated in symbols, too, short thorn-like protrusions and dots poking out as well as curvy lines. The lid was topped with a large diamond, pointed on top. Rafe pulled it off and smelled it, then gagged.  
“Is it- blood?” Hermione asked tentatively.  
“No. I’ll let you keep it, but you ought to be careful with it.” He said, handing it to Hermione, who looked at it, fascinated.  
He looked at the large paper from Harry. Letters formed on top, and Rafe sucked in a breath. The Marauders Map… Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs… He unfolded it to find footprints walking around atop nothing.  
“I’ve seen this before,” Rafe muttered. His brow furrowed.  
“Are you sure?” Hermione asked. Rafe nodded.  
“I… Sincerely… No. I… Swear… I… I?” Rafe closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have a migraine.”  
He handed the map to Harry and stood, walking to stand in front of the large crucifix at the head of the room. He was a tall, dark figure, his robes black and flowing. The whole disheveled, mysterious pastor fit him. The trio shared a few glances before they followed him. Hermione and Ron leaned against him, and Harry against Hermione, his temple on the top of her head. Rafe put his arms around them. Harry watched as Ron held the smaller paper and unfolded it. On it was a picture of a small redhead boy… That moved, laughing and smiling. MISSING, it said, above the moving picture. Below, it read, Ronald Bilius Weasley, 3 years old, red hair, light blue eyes. If found please contact Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.  
“That…” Rafe said. “That’s you, Ron.”  
Ron, brow furrowed, looked up. Rafe took the picture, then looked concernedly at Ron before walking quite quickly to the front door, locking it tight. Harry and Hermione looked at Ron, who looked slightly confused, a bit concerned… But surprisingly null of much emotion. It probably wasn’t sinking in.  
Was that why that person had been here? Looking for Ron? Was it his family? Did they want him back? Would they take him from Harry and Hermione? Would they take them all? Were they good people? Would they hurt him? Why was that picture moving? Everything was so strange…  
Rafe returned, putting his hand on Ron’s shoulder. “Come with me,” he said in a deep voice. He turned and led them deeper into the church, past the confession booth, the cafeteria, the kitchens, through his office, and into what Harry assumed was his bedroom. The trio sat on a worn wooden bench in front of a small, uncomfortable looking bed with a metal frame. Rafe sat on that, head in his hands.  
“I keep- seeing things. Memories. Things I’ve not been able to remember for a long, long time.”  
“That’s good, innit?” Ron asked. Rafe looked at him.  
“... Possibly. But, the things I remember…” He sighed. “Part of me wishes I didn’t have to know, ever again.” Harry tensed, concerned.  
“What do you remember?” Hermione asked tentatively.  
Rafe sighed. “My family, sort of. Some of my friends. How I got my scars. A lot of the rest is just… Partial memories. I can’t quite remember what led to how I got my scars, but I was doing something- something urgent.”  
“How did you get your scars?” Harry asked. Hermione sucked in a breath and elbowed him. Ron looked down, and Gye fell into his lap. He pet him gently.  
“Inferi. They… Dragged me into water. Scratched me. It hurt like a son of a bitch,”  
Harry had never heard Rafe curse, ever.  
“What’s Inferi?” Hermione asked.  
Rafe didn’t reply, but looked at the wooden box that Hermione had tucked the potion back into. “I think I- I’m a wizard. And I think whoever you took those things from was, too. Or a witch.”  
Harry furrowed his brows. Growing up in an orphanage run by a Catholic church, they’d heard quite a bit about witches… But the thought of them, of magic, being real, was so far away and strange.  
“If Ron was on that poster, in a moving picture… Does he come from wizards and witches?” Harry asked.  
He looked at Ron, who was frowning down at Gye, knee bouncing rapidly. Hermione had her head on Ron’s shoulder.  
“I… Think you all do,” Rafe said. “Harry Potter. I remember you, your parents… My brother was- is, I suppose- your godfather.”  
Harry sucked in a breath, a wave of emotions flooding him. He looked down and swallowed, then felt Hermione grasp his hand and squeeze gently.  
“What… Who… Were they? My parents? Why did they- why was I with my aunt and uncle? I thought they died, or something… They didn’t talk about my parents often, but I swear they said… They said they’d died.”  
“It’s possible they did. I didn’t keep up with them. I… Worked a lot, I think. It’s hard to remember.” Rafe looked over. “James and Lily Potter. Great wizards, the both of them, but… Woefully misguided. Just like him… Sirius, my brother.” Rafe closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face. “He hated me. Thought I betrayed him. Thought I was on the wrong side of the war… But, if only he knew…”  
“Knew what?” Harry asked. Rafe shook his head. “What war?”  
“I sent for you,” Rafe said. “To let you know I’d be leaving. I- I can’t stay here, knowing what I know, what needs to be done. You, all three of you- forget about magic. Forget about wizards and witches. I wasn’t going to tell you any of this, but hell, I trust you to trust me, and it would bother me to keep it from you, to lie. And especially after you found all those strange things… I needed to tell you. But it’s safer for you here. Safe for you, away from that man, that evil man…” Rafe stood.  
“No,” Harry said. “You can’t go.”  
“Please,” whined Hermione. “We need you. You can’t.”  
“Take us with you,” Ron said, standing. “You can raise us. We can help you, with anything.”  
“No.” Rafe said softly. He kissed Ron’s forehead. “I love you three with every atom of my being. And that’s why you must stay here. Be safe.”  
“We’ll never stop looking. For the rest of the wizards, for you.” Ron declared, standing tall. Hermione was rocking slightly, and Harry squeezing her hand and pulled her, rubbing her shoulder. She was shutting down, like she did when bad things happened.  
Rafe sighed, then shook his head. “Please, Ron-”  
“No. It’s horrible here. There is nothing for us. Our lives would be shite, scraping for pennies even with the three of us, if we ever get out of here. And without you? We won’t make it out of here.”  
Rafe frowned, looking at him. Determination shone in Ron’s blue eyes. Rafe swallowed. “I… It’s probably for the best. He’ll probably find you all, anyway. Especially now…” Rafe paced. “... How they find muggleborns…” He walked to his dresser and picked up three letters from underneath his rosary, handing one to each of the children.  
Harry looked down, frowning. He had a hard time reading; it’s like they… Jumped, the letters, and danced. He couldn’t recognize a lot of them for a long time. He did recognize his name, Harry Potter, until Rafe kneeled beside him and opened it, reading the paper aloud for him.  
“Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find an enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.”  
“Blimey,” Ron said, his face pale. “It says Mr. Weasley.”  
“Ms. Granger,” Hermione said. “My name is… Hermione Granger… I remember that, now.”  
“McGonagall came round today. I told her you wouldn’t be attending Hogwarts, any of you. We should go there, soon, as they might not accept you if you try any later than today.”  
“What does that mean, it awaits our owl?” Hermione asked.  
“I haven’t a clue, quite honestly.” Rafe replied. “It seems I cannot remember that bit.” He stood, then looked at his wardrobe. “Wait outside the door for me. I’m going to change, and then we’ll get going. Speak to no one. You won’t be able to get anything other than what you have with you, lest we be stopped.”  
The three of them stood outside the closed door, in his office. It was a dark, dreary room, the walls and floor stone, no windows at all. A few minutes later, Rafe exited his room, wearing a simple grey t-shirt and black jeans. The four of them walked out of the church, close together, clutching their goodies. Gye was hidden in Ron’s shirt once more.  
Once they’d reached the corner of the dirt roads, far past where they were visible from the orphanage, Rafe stopped them. He bit his lip, looking around, then turned to them.  
“I… I don’t have any money, or a car, or a place to stay. The only way I know how to take us where we need to go is very dangerous, and one or more of you may be hurt. I need to know if you trust me.”  
“Of course,” Harry said without hesitation. Ron nodded, and then Hermione. Rafe nodded, inhaling sharply through his nose and looking down. He held Harry and Hermione’s hand, and motioned for Ron to do the same.  
“Close your eyes,” Rafe said, voice brimming with anxiety. The three of them obeyed, and then, a moment later-  
Darkness. It felt like Harry was imploding, like a lot of dense, hard air was pushing his outsides in, and his insides even more in. His eyes were sucked back into his head, his chest collapsed-  
And then they all stood inside a pub, with a bunch of other people, who all continued with their day. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, eyes wide, disgruntled, recovering.  
He knew the life they’d just teleported into was going to be something very, very odd.


	3. The Leaky Cauldron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty embarrassing how short this is, considering how long it's been since I've updated. I wish I had a reason, but I'm just lazy and unmotivated. Sorry about that.

Rafe looked around the room, inhaling slowly, clutching Hermione and Harry’s hands tightly. Ron released his siblings hands, then looked up at the pastor.  
“Where are we?”  
“The Leaky Cauldron,” Rafe said after a moment.  
“What’s the use in a cauldron if it’s leaky?” asked Hermione, brow furrowing. A man sat at a booth laughed, setting his paper down. He had long, shimmering white hair, cool silver eyes, and a handsome, aging face.  
“An awfully good question, dear,” he said in an immaculate accent, his voice soft and cold. “They’re not muggleborn, are th-” he started, glancing at Rafe’s face. He blinked, shock slowly weaving its way over him, sitting back slightly. “Regulus,”  
“Lucius,” Rafe- Regulus?- said, looking as if he’d seen a ghost. “Fancy running into you,”  
“I’m waiting for Narcissa,” he said. “She’s with our son, preparing for Hogwarts,” Lucius glanced back at the three children. “I assume they’re not all yours? They look quite dissimilar from you-” He glanced at Hermione, who was mixed, and Ron, a ginger, before his eyes settled on Harry. “Well, that one could be yours, if he didn’t look exactly like his father,” he sounded distasteful, especially with the last two words. Harry tensed, clenching Rafe’s hand tighter.  
“They’re mine,” said Rafe. “By blood or not.”  
“How noble,” Lucius said with a fake smile, eyes narrowing almost imperceivably. “Especially for a dead man,”  
“In case you couldn’t tell, I am very much alive.” Rafe replied. “I’ll be by your estate later, to… Catch up, if you will,” Lucius nodded, glanced at the children once more, then returned to his paper. Harry noticed that the pictures were moving. He led them outside, to an alley with a brick wall. Ron took Gye out of his shirt again, dropping him by accident. Against the pavement, the animal jumped back up, humming. Ron grinned and began to dribble him, like a basketball, much to the amusement of Harry, himself, and seemingly, Gye. Hermione, on the other hand, looked horrified. “Come on,” Rafe said, leading them forward.  
“Ice cream,” said Ron in awe as they found themselves in an alley lined with shops, full of people. He pointed at a colorful building with windows revealing a vintage-themed ice cream shoppe.  
“Not now, Ron-” started Rafe.  
“Please,” pled the boy, pointing. “They have green ice cream! I didn’t know ice cream could be green!”  
Rafe glanced inside, his expression changing from agitated to that same struck look he’d had when he’d spotted Lucius. Wordlessly, he led the children into the store. “McGonagall,”  
A witch in a long, emerald green dress and matching top hat spun, looking at him and then each of the three children, studying them one by one. “It seems you’ve changed your mind, then, Regulus?”  
“Yes,” said Regulus. “It seems the wizarding world may be where they belong,”  
“There are two different types of green ice cream!” Ron exclaimed suddenly. “Rafe, please-”  
“I don’t have any money, Ron,” said Regulus softly. Ron nodded, deflating slightly.  
“Order away,” said McGonagall softly, her analytical gaze softening at the sight of the sad child. Ron beamed at her, then ordered a cone with a scoop of mint chocolate chip and a scoop of pistachio.  
“I want this,” said Harry, staring at a chocolate ice cream filled with chocolate pieces, fudge, chunks of peanut butter…  
“Blueberry pomegranate with chocolate chunks,” Hermione requested after a moment. Regulus and McGonagall continued to talk as the children made their way to a table. Harry’s ice cream tasted even better than he’d hoped.  
Hermione set her wooden box on the table. “If this smells as bad as it tastes,” she said. “We ought to take it now, when we have something to eat afterwards,”  
“Why would we drink that?” asked Ron.  
“It will make us siblings- real siblings!” Hermione said brightly.  
“We’re already real siblings,” Harry said.  
“Yes, but this will make us blood siblings,” Hermione said, pouting as she looked between the two of them. “Don’t you want to be blood related?”  
Ron was eyeing it suspiciously, but Harry didn’t really see a reason why they ought not to. It didn’t bother him that they weren’t already blood related, but if Hermione wanted it so, they might as well do it. He shrugged at Ron. “Alright, but if we die-”  
“We aren’t going to die,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. She picked up the potion and went to open it, but Rafe’s-Regulus’- voice stopped her.  
“I would like to ask that you wait,” said he. “Until Ron’s family have seen him. He ought to be recognizable.”  
“They’re my family,” said Ron defensively.  
“I know,” Regulus said softly. “But your parents miss you, dearly. They made you, they loved you for three years- and then you simply disappeared. Don’t you think it’d be nice, at least for them, to see your face again?”  
Ron looked down, brow furrowed, thinking. Slowly, he nodded. “Alright,”  
“But, afterwards,” Hermione said, sticking a pinky out to each of her brothers. The three of them locked pinkies.  
“Afterwards,” said the boys in unison.  
“I’ll make arrangements in Devon,” said McGonagall. “I trust you’ll be on time?”  
“Yes,” said Regulus, meeting her eye. “I will.”  
“Good,” she said softly, then left.  
The children finished their ice cream, then were led to the end of the alley into a large building. “Gringotts,” said Regulus. “The bank.”  
Small people with wrinkled faces and long ears sat in high seats around the room. “What are they?” asked Hermione in a hushed voice.  
“Goblins,” replied Regulus. “They’re just like you and me, Hermione. People.” She nodded, but leaned into him, mildly frightened.  
“Hi,” said Ron to one of them. He responded only by glaring at the boy for a moment with small, beady eyes, annoyed. “Jeez,” muttered Ron under his breath.  
“Black family vault,” said Regulus after a moment, standing in front of a free goblin. The creature glanced up, then held out a hand. Regulus set his own palm-up atop it. With a long, jagged fingernail, the goblin sliced his palm open, then turned his hand over. Regulus’ blood seeped onto the desk, forming a key, before solidifying. Harry watched it, mesmerized.  
“Follow me,” instructed the goblin. They were lead through caves in a cart that went entirely too fast for Harry. Regulus and the goblin seemed fine, Ron seemed quite amused, and Hermione looked as if she were going to be sick. Eventually, the ended up in front of a giant black door. The goblin pushed the key all the way into the keyhole, and then the door seemed to melt into the walls. Piles of gold and what looked like terrifying, dangerous things filled the giant room. Regulus quietly took the velvet pouch that the goblin produced out of nothing, then stepped inside, motioning for the children to stay put. He picked up three handfuls of gold- all with the hand that hand been cut- and dropped them into the pouch. He stepped out of the vault, pocketing his treasure. They rode the cart all the way back up to the entrance, then followed Regulus back into the main part of the alley.  
They followed Rafe into Madam Malkin’s Robes For All Occasions, letting an old witch with a bright smile lead them to stand in front of three tall mirrors. She started on Hermione, but tape measures moving on their own started on each of the boys. “Wicked,” Ron muttered, grinning at the mirror as he watched them.  
“Thank you, dear,” smiled Madam Malkin. Hermione looked awkwardly, not particularly fond of the stranger touching her, but said nothing. Regulus took a seat behind Harry, his face tense. His eyes softened when he met Harry’s eye in the mirror, though, and he smiled, giving a wink. Harry grinned back at him.  
They spent the day roaming from store to store, gathering more and more things to carry. Finally, they ended up standing in front of a wand shop.  
“This should be interesting,” Regulus said softly.


End file.
